


out of the hum of the street lights

by poisonruby



Category: One Direction
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, High School AU, M/M, new author! be gentle, ridiculous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:29:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonruby/pseuds/poisonruby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry is stupid and young and louis is in the robotics club. they meet in a smelly gym amid wires and metal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	out of the hum of the street lights

**Author's Note:**

> first fic!! v nervous!! be gentle!! 10,000 hugs for brianna, crashlandthetardis (ao3 + tumblr), for the help w this!

Harry loves his sister. He really, truly does, which is why he stupidly agrees to go to her boyfriend’s little sister’s science fair.

“It’ll be for like fifteen minutes tops,” Gemma had pleaded, wringing his hands: the very portrait of agony. “I don’t want to go all by my self.”

Harry stared at their hands – why does she have to wring _his_ hands, this is just painful – his brow furrowed. “But,” he said slowly, brain chugging slowly after a day of rigorous school work. “If you’re going with your boyfriend won’t you have him?”

Gemma just sighed dramatically, flying away to flop on his bed. “That’s not the point,” she said.

“Then what is the point?” He had snapped irritably; he’s got a chem test he hasn’t studied for and English homework piling up by the second. “Honestly Gem, this algebra assignment isn’t going to do itself.”

Her eyes narrowed, calculating. There was a beat of silence where neither of them said anything, Gemma sizing Harry up and Harry worrying his lip nervously.

In the end she agreed to do his algebra homework in exchange for his presence at the science fair.

Now, after fifteen minutes has morphed into twenty, which quickly derails into thirty minutes, Harry wanders the grounds of his primary school, nostalgia overcoming him as he peeps into dark classrooms he used to base his life in.

He taps out a forlorn text to Gemma, a stab of pettiness tinging his tone as he glares at the screen. It’s not fair, he whines internally. She had ditched him as soon as they got there leaving him with nothing better to do than wander aimlessly.

Surprisingly enough, when he strolls past the bottle rocket contest, he catches a glimpse of a bottle blond head thrown back in laughter. The cackle seems familiar and he’s just placed the name to the face when Niall shouts, “Harry you little sh- I mean, fu- Harry Styles, what are you doing here?”

To his own surprise, he finds himself giggling a little at the sight of his former best friend, thick rimmed glasses perched precariously on his nose, loosely sat in a plastic chair helping kids fill out registration forms for a bottle rocket contest. “I should ask you the same,” he mumbles, stumbling over to embrace Niall.

Niall lets out a sharp bark, booming about the room and startling no less than three children. “There’s the Harry I know,” he teases. Niall turns back to shove a pencil at an unsuspecting kid before focusing back on Harry. “Where’ve you been, mate? Haven’t seen you since… what was it, sixth grade graduation?”

Harry bobs his head in affirmation, thinking of the dreaded year he had entered the middle school system and lost contact with the majority of his friends due to the sheer size of the place. They all went their separate ways with no hard feelings, branching out to new social groups.

“Why are you even here?” Harry can’t help but asking, gesturing around the semi full playground.

Niall shrugs. “Just doing my citizenly duty. Reconnecting with old mates.” He earns a grin for that one. “Nah, but seriously, just wanted to see what’s different, what’s the same with this place. Still in high school?”

“Yes. Why, are you not?” Harry asks with alarm.

“Well of course I am, it’s just my job as your ex best friend to ask,” Niall sighs in exasperation. Perking up, he pokes Harry in the stomach while prattling off the instructions for registration to a surprisingly tall fourth grader and her dad. They waste an hour like that, exchanging banter as Niall does his job with Harry sprawled against the wall next to him, the sun steadily slipping down the sky.

Despite the significant change in daylight people don’t go away, instead opting to begin offing their rockets. It’s not chilly but not warm and the spray of soda fans over the crowd, including Harry. “I think I’m going to go back inside,” Harry warns Niall and they exchange mobile numbers before he departs.

As he walks away all he can hear is the bright sound of Niall’s laughter.

Harry spends fifteen minutes reexamining the science fair projects while periodically checking his phone for texts from Gemma. His chemistry homework is practically calling his name; despite his best efforts he can’t summon enough interest in the projects to process anything beyond the title.

A little girl captures his attention for a bit, luring him in with sweets and then proceeding to talk his ear off about the amount of sugar he’s consuming. She produces a small graph out of nowhere and drones on about processed foods and the various risks. He barely manages to slip away with his life, sneaking an extra Twix for his troubles.

After that he decides that science fairs are definitely not his forte, and gives up. He ends up wandering the same hallways he had before he had seen Niall, his frustrated huff echoing about the small hallway.

Everything about this place was smaller than he remembers; the ceiling is low enough for him to lift a hand to brush it, the chairs are tinier than he even knew they made, and he finds himself squinting in suspicion at a painting he could've sworn took up an entire wall while he was a student here, but now was the size of his elbow span.

In the middle of his musings on whether he grew and the school shrunk, voices cut into his thought process.

“The hell was that Malik?” a voice barks, and in spite of never knowing anybody called Malik, much less been called Malik, Harry finds himself turning around in response guiltily.

At the end of the previously empty hallway two boys about Harry’s age confront one another, and he shifts nervously at the sight. One, all dark skinned and quiffed hair, has an obvious height advantage over the smaller, tanned one with a fringe.

To his shock, it’s the smaller one shouting. “I told you to come like an hour ago!” he adds on. Harry notes that he’s standing on his tip toes in order to be closer for shouting purposes. He really, really tries not to find it cute.

“I know you love me babe,” Quiff winks. Oh, so maybe it’s not a serious fight. In fact, when Harry looks closer, he realizes Quiff has his hand tucked in the pocket of the other boy, and he feels foolish for even thinking they were truly angry at each other.

“What are you staring at?” Fringe glares down the hall. Harry should probably stop referring to them by their hair style. He doesn’t want to.

With a start, he realizes they’re both staring at him. “Oh – I um,” he stutters, feeling his face warm. Neither of them looks impressed. Truthfully Quiff looked bored with the situation; Fringe seemed mildly irritated at best. He can practically feel his sanity seconds disappearing so he blurts the first thing that comes to mind. “I’m here for the science fair.”

“Oh!” That brightens Fringe right up. “Right this way! We haven’t even got a crowd yet, this is perfect, right Zayn?”

Quiff, or Zayn, Harry guesses, nods before disappearing through a green metal door Harry knows leads to the small carpeted gym. Fringe follows him, and for lack of anything better to do, Harry follows too.

“We run the robotics team up at the high school,” Fringe explains, cheerfully bouncing over to a set of machines. “Actually, you don’t look like a primary school student; you go there too don’t you?”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah, ’m Harry Styles.”

Zayn tosses Fringe a bundle of wires held together by a rubber band and he catches it with ease. “I’m Louis Tomlinson.” Fringe beams, his eyes crinkling to small happy slits. Harry wonders what he’s so happy for. “Our school isn’t that big, I’m surprised I haven’t met you before,” he tacks on as an afterthought.

“Oi, what happened to the whirring thing?” Zayn clucks, poking at the hunk of metal with a screwdriver. Harry can’t help feel a little disappointed; he had thought everything would a bit more scientific than this in the robotics club.

“Careful Zayn, what with all that technical talk I should accuse you of showing off in front of Harry here,” Louis teases. Zayn shrugs and resumes poking at the machine with vigor. Louis leans forward as if sharing a secret, and Harry finds himself leaning forward as well, unable to deny this magnetic boy a show. “Believe it or not, Zayn’s the smart one.” He whisper-shouts. Zayn doesn’t even look up.

Without warning Louis launches a miniature cooling fan at Zayn, who simply plucks it out of the air.

Harry glances between the two unsure if he’s intruding on anything. There’s an air of practiced ease between them, as if they’ve already gone and learned everything about each other there is to know. They move in tandem, cracking inside jokes and poking fun.

But Louis is cute, especially when he puts on a pair of small framed glasses to read a form, and Harry can’t help but flirt a bit, smiling widely when the other boy reciprocates.

Harry learns that Louis is eighteen, set to graduate in the spring, and his sisters go to this school even though he hadn’t. Louis speaks animatedly about them, pushing his glasses up each time they threatened to slide off his nose, gesticulating widely with a wrench to emphasize his points.

Louis asks about school and work and friends and Harry answers willingly each time. Louis is sweet; acting like everything he says is fascinating even though Harry at one point describes the delivery of a lettuce to his house. He can’t help but feel inferior as a mere sophomore. Zayn half listens, more absorbed in last minute engineering details than their debate on the superior fruit.

Eventually people begin to filter in and Harry takes a step back to let others observe. Well, okay, that makes it sound like a whole bunch of people showed up, when in reality only a handful of small children ambled in.

Even then he’s fascinated, feeling more entertained than he probably has any right to be. Zayn pumps up once people actually start taking an interest in the mechanics of it all; the last time Harry looked he was in deep conversation with a muscle-y high schooler Harry remembers from second grade.

Mostly, though, he spends his time watching Louis from the corner of his eye, fiddling with his phone in order to make it seem like he wasn’t paying attention. That’s the last thing he needs; a reputation of being the weird little kid who won’t leave Louis alone.

It’s just, Louis is so great with all the kids; he tickles a smile out of a previously pouting boy, solves an argument between two warring siblings, and charms a few shy girls into professing their interest in engineering. The entire time he mediates between a few kids, giving each a minute or two to man the controller, navigating the small lump of metal and wires across the gym.

By the time it’s just them in the small, yet high vaulted room, Harry’s smitten. Zayn’s gone to chat up the guy, Liam, Harry thinks – the other people having lost interest, sauntering out the door into the grayish night – and Harry is 100% sure he wants to kiss the daylights out of Louis Tomlinson, his soft purple hoodie (that displays a clever robotics team pun) and all.

Harry’s accepted the fact that he likes both girls and boys. Harry’s also accepted the fact that he comes on a bit strong most of the time.

So he hopes it’s not too out of place when he sidles up to Louis where the boy’s rearranging a stack of pamphlets. Harry watches the boy’s hands move, admiring their daintiness, and, okay, so this is a bit much for even him.

“Think you can stare any harder?” Louis teases, jolting him out of his thoughts. Louis laughs at his reaction, blue eyes softening although the lights overhead are of the harsh florescent variety. Thinking on it, Harry realizes everything about Louis is soft. His skin, his curves, his hair certainly looks soft. He can’t help but hope he gets a chance to test that theory out for himself. “Yeah, that’s right, I saw you staring all night like the little creeper you are.”

Harry blushes, his momentary bravado fading. “Sorry, if I like, made you uncomfortable; I can leave if you want." His words ooze out slowly like molasses and he’s irritated a bit about the speed at which he fails to go.

Louis really laughs at that, which is weird because it’s usually Harry laughing at what Louis says, not the other way around. But Louis’ laughter is contagious; not like Niall’s, a forceful, booming, ridiculously hilarious one that guides others to stitches, but one that works its way up from Louis’ stomach, light and fluttering, inspiring the same feeling in Harry. He feels light. And there are _definitely_ fluttering feelings erupting in his stomach while watching Louis laugh.

“Harry, oh my god, you’re fine, I was joking,” Louis sputters, looking a bit wounded that Harry would even take him seriously. Harry refuses to address the issue in which he feels like tap dancing knowing that Louis doesn’t think he’s creepy.

Louis reconsiders Harry for a second. He squirms under the blue eyed boy’s gaze. “What do you say we blow this joint?” he asks finally, waggling his eyebrows. “Bigger and better things, Styles. I’ve got plans for us.”

Harry doesn’t even hesitate in answering, and he kind of wants to slap himself for sounding so overeager when he blurts, “I would love to!”

Louis looks amused but keeps his thoughts to himself. Jiggling a pair of car keys in the air he motions for Harry to be quiet, and they’re off. Like, full spy mode and everything; Harry doesn’t think he’s ever felt more immature in his life. When they’re doubled over in laughter due to their really, really lame antics, his stray thought, _I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in years_ , is lost before he can even examine it too closely.

They make it to the car in one piece, fits of giggles occasionally overwhelming them, exiting unseen by anyone. Somebody should probably be watching after the expensive machinery in the gym, but given the choice between a cute boy with mischief in his eyes and robots he’s unsure how to work, Harry thinks he’ll have to stick with Louis.

Harry doesn’t have much time to freak out over the fact that _holy shit he’s in a cute senior’s car about to be carted off to an unknown location what do I do with my hands is he looking at me right now he’s so hot I’m going to die I still don’t know what to do with my hands_ because then Louis is peeling out of the parking lot with a screech of the tires.

“We are in a residential area!” Harry’s protests are muffled by a sudden burst of music. Hold on, is this – “Is this The Script?”

Louis looks over from where he’d been previously enraptured with the road. “Yeah, they’re so great,” Louis sighs, discarding his glasses into the plastic cup holder. Harry beats down the disappointment of that action – hey, Louis looked really cute in those alright? – opting to sweep a cursory gaze over the state of his car, hoping to memorize every detail just in case Louis decides he never wants to see Harry again.

It’s not until they've pulled up to an ice cream shop that Harry thinks to wonder where they’re going, and by then it’s already answered for them. “Ice cream?” he questions. Louis lets out a hoot of acknowledgement over the music. “I think you’re probably the most immature eighteen-year-old I've ever met.”

Even though he had complained, Harry follows Louis into the shop, a tinkling bell announcing their arrival.  They trail about for a bit, voicing some of the more ridiculous flavors out loud, and at one point Louis crowds in closer than necessary to explain his emotional connection to rainbow sherbet; Harry isn't really sure what it was on account of his not breathing due to the feeling of Louis pressed up against his side, warm breath on his neck, fingers curled around his forearm.

A girl with a lilting voice scoops Harry a cone of peanut butter and chocolate and Louis a cone of butter pecan.  Louis pays despite Harry’s insistence, and he makes a mental note to repay the other boy in some way. They settle down at a table near the window even though there isn't anything to look at except for their reflections in the dim landscape.

They sit like that, legs tangled, licking at their cones while chatting lightly, for what seems like hours. When Harry checks his phone he’s got two missed calls and a few angry texts from Gemma wondering where he’s run off to. Louis launches into another story so he just tucks his phone back into his pocket without responding. She had left him hanging and he is a hormonal teenager; he has the right to, he supposes.

By the time their ice cream cones are down to nubs the stars have slid into the dark sky, car lights swinging past as they make their way out of the ice cream shop in a jumble of lean limbs and breathless laughter.

“Thanks for doing this with me,” Harry finds himself saying. Wincing, he casts a look in the older boy's direction, waiting out his reaction to such a lame, insecure thing.

Louis is just smiling at him softly from under his eyelashes. “Yeah,” the boy answers, his voice breathless in the lukewarm air. It’s a different sort of breathless than when they had been doubled over in laughter, and Harry searches for a hint to tell him if this boy is feeling the same as he is.

They pile into the car, but this time Louis drives slower, the music quieter, and Harry can’t help but feel like the world is slowing down just to give them just a few more minutes together. Last time it was loud and brash and fast, racing off into the unknown, towards something bigger and better.

Now they both seem to be holding their breath for something that might never come.

A new song seamlessly replaces the one that had been murmuring before, and Harry recognizes the band yet again. “The Script again, right?” he guesses.

“Love ‘em to death,” Louis replies. The glasses are still in the cup holder and Harry is overcome with a need to see Louis with them on again. He wants nothing more than to find out what Louis looks like in them morning, figure out if he’s all sniffles and silence or if he’s always this keyed up. He wants to discover Louis in different states, angry and sad, happy and proud, stressed and excited.

More than anything, Harry wants to see Louis again.

“I’ve got tickets,” he blurts without much build up, and Louis’ eyes widen in understanding before Harry even comprehends what he’s talking about. Once he remembers the two tickets he’s got sitting on his bedroom table at home, he lights up. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going to see them in September, and like, it’s not really a big deal because I haven’t really got anybody to go with me, and I was just…”

“Harry,” Louis says seriously. “Shut up.” Harry shuts up, holding his breath. “Of course I’ll go with you.”

Trying to smother the smile threatening to crack his face in half, Harry nods, turning to examine the other boy in the dark cab of the car, stripes of yellowed lamp lights painting him in a new light. Harry idly wonders what he looks like in the wash of moonlight.

He then wonders what his issue is and that he really needs to stop acting like they’re in a Shakespeare sonnet.

“So, like. We’ll be in the same gig, won’t we?” Louis asks.

Harry smiles. “Yeah, we will.”

He’s so busy staring at Louis that he doesn’t even register where they are until Gemma barks, “Oh you are so dead!”

“I really hope she isn’t talking about us,” Louis says doubtfully, turning the engine off and squinting at his doorway where Gemma’s silhouetted, hands on her hips. Louis' car is in his driveway and Gemma is going to murder him for disappearing with a stranger for the night.

Harry blinks. Oh, they’re – they’re here. The illusion Harry had cloaked them in tonight dissipates with his sense of ease, and he shifts nervously knowing that he’s got to go home and settle back into his existence knowing somebody like Louis Tomlinson exists.

“Listen, would it be alright if… Can I give you my number?” Harry asks.

Cursing himself internally, because _who gives out their number people receive numbers why can’t he be cool_ , he smooths out a sticky note hanging onto the door handle and plucking a pen that’s sitting miraculously on the dashboard. Aware of Louis watching him – Louis, who has cute hands and maybe soft hair, who probably tastes like butter pecan ice cream right now – he jots down his mobile number.

Then he’s up and out of the car because Gemma’s begun hollering as if Harry can’t hear her, and Louis is mostly quiet except for a quick goodbye that’s substantially unimpressive considering the night they’ve spent together, and he’s inside his house breathing like he’s run a mile, Gemma eyeing him suspiciously.

He gets a text as he’s falling asleep from an unknown number.

“need a ride to school tomorrow? :) xx”

Two x’s; his heart almost stops and he definitely giggles, and he’s just happy because he is going to find out what Louis is like in the morning after all.

He goes to sleep with a smile on his face and his phone clutched lightly in his grip.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ rufflelouis


End file.
